Well Dressed Men
by walkingby521
Summary: She couldn't help it that she was devastatingly fascinated by pulchritudinous men in suits. Especially her boyfriend. One-Shot. Mystery Man. Suit love?


**AN: **Someone asked me to write a piece about Hermione and her obsession with a random topic of study (non-magical). I selected menswear. Naturally. :P I might go off the deep end a bit, so try to stick with me! I hope you like it!

Also, care to take a guess at who the mystery man is?

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**Well-Dressed Men**

Once Hermione Granger got an idea trapped in her head there was no hope of her letting it go. She would ponder it over tea. She would search every book and magazine on the topic. She would study and paraphrase and write her own notes on the issue. She would ask professionals and _connoisseurs_. She would poke and prod until she understood the thing completely. She would become obsessed until she knew everything. Then, and only then, would she be satisfied.

By that theory, she should have long ago shaken her little, _er_, let's call it a _passion_. It's more like a fetish, but that's just a little too crude for Hermione. Yet here she was, practically drooling in this fine robe shoppe. She stood off to the side of the tailor's pedestal, her eyes raking her boyfriend's tall form.

She couldn't help it that she was devastatingly fascinated by pulchritudinous men in suits.

Hermione could tell you the exact day she began her interest into men's fashion. Yes, she had a dark grey leather notebook that she had written all her musings in. And her first entry was dated. Precisely one month after the final battle. It seemed silly then - actually it still seemed pretty silly - but living in the woods for nearly a full year had given Hermione time to learn to appreciate the finer luxuries in life. She was still modest, but she grew fond of having nice things surround her. Including a _well-dressed _man.

There was something alluring about a man in a suit, Muggle and Wizard alike. The obvious draw is that traditionally only men in power would take the effort, time, and money to be well outfitted. Hermione had studied all types of men's fashion - everything from top hats and bowties, to pocket squares and braces, to ascots and full robes, to shoes and other accessories. She looked through a hundred books and catalogs, learning how each item was designed, prepared, styled, and how the 'everyday' man or wizard wore them. She may have had questionable taste when it came to women's fashion, but men's suiting and haberdashery was something she _knew_.

She visited a well-known haberdasher. She studied _buttons, zips, snaps, cufflinks, collar stays,_ and other _notions_. She learned about how clothing was made, how she could judge the quality, and how to note the tailoring. She sat in on a tailor working. She wrote notes on cut and the many variations. She learned about stitching and fabrics like _linen, wool, _and _silk. _She learned the terminology for the patterns of fabrics - like _houndstooth, herringbone, tattersail, _and _tweed_. She met with a cobbler who explained the odds and ends of shoe making. He was fairly surprised when she took no interest in his women's loafers and heels, but instead bothered him with questions about men's _oxfords, derbys, monk-straps, brogues, _and _dessert boots_. She went to a robemaker and asked about the magical properties of robe fabric. She learned about adding secret pockets and modifying the weight limit of fabrics. She learned about the difference in Muggle and Wizard lapels and closures. She learned how the robemaker cast spells to waterproof and windproof her fabrics. She wrote notes about how it was difficult to be responsible for both the hands-on craftsmanship as well as the charms. Wizards demanded a _lot_, didn't they?

And here she found herself in a magical robe shoppe tucked somewhere in London, watching as her dapper boyfriend tried on robe after robe for her. Some she loved, some she hated. Most would need altering to show off his broad, muscular shoulders. For once, she was _incredibly_ thankful for Quidditch. The two of them would be walking out with a handful of purchases thanks to his work bonus. The absolute best purchase of the day: A set of _bespoke_ _robes_.

There was something delicious about the way a suit fit the male form: broad shoulders, a fit chest, slim hips, long legs. A good suit made all the right curves and lines appear on the body, making the average male form more suave. A good suit accentuated every positive, skimmed over any negatives. And adding the right mix of accessories could make an average suit amazing. A man wearing cufflinks and a pocket square feels like a million gallons and he looks the part too. Women will swoon and men will puff out their chests when a sharply dressed man saunters by. A good suit begs for attention - No, it actually _demands_ attention. Men in suits do not have to beg for anything. Everything is given to them.

Hermione always thought that the layers were inviting. She wanted to peel them off. Some nights, when she was finished with her Ministry job, she would go home and pour herself over books of fashion history and images of men in cardigans, waistcoats, and full robes. Then after a glass of wine or two, her sweetheart would come home after some fancy work thing and she'd get to feel everything she had been simply studying in images. She would drink it all in: his tweedy overcoat, the soft scarf at his neck, and the way his leather _attaché_ case smelt. She'd worship him then, smother him with kisses and touches and sighs. She would drag out the experience until neither of them could handle it.

He would shake the snow off of his tall frame, mussing up his hair as he did it. His eyes would shine brightly against his skin, which would blush under the cold wind. She would help him remove his leather gloves and overcoat, treating each piece with reverence and care. She would unwind his knit scarf, pulling him down for a deep kiss. Hermione would open his dinner jacket, skimming the buttons with her fingers, weighing the fabric under her hands. She would slide her hands inside jacket, running around the wool waistcoat to the backing fabric. The cool silk would feel so delicate and sumptuous against the heavier wool of the suit pieces. She loved that menswear always played up contrasts and luxury. By now both of their eyes would be fluttering close. She would slip off the jacket, unbutton the waistcoat, sliding her hands up and down his torso as she did. She would pull him towards their bedroom, shedding the pieces in an age-old striptease to their bed. Hermione would loosen the Windsor knot of his patterned silk tie and slide it up his jaw, catching some of his stubble, sending shivers down both of their spines. The fabric was textured and supple. It yielded to her hands as she clutched it. He would pull her form completely against his and she relished in the feeling of his body pressed so close from the top of her crown to the tip of her toes. The process could take a _long_ time; it was painstaking to remove a full suit. But it was always worth every moment. His waistcoat, jumper, or cardigan; his tie; his cufflinks and shirt studs; his watch; his braces or belt; his shirt and trousers; and finally his pants. And then he was striped and she would be there panting, fully dressed, standing in a room littered with clothing. She loved everything about it. It would be much to simple to just rip off his jeans, trainers, and an old shirt - not that she didn't like to do that too - but there was something so beautiful in taking the time, the pomp and circumstance to remove it all one piece at a time.

When they were finally sated, they would lay in bed surrounded by her dress and parts of his tuxedo, she knew it was him that she loved, not the suits. But the suits probably came in a close second. Honestly, it didn't help that he looked devastatingly good in everything he put on. His hair was the perfect messy bed-head and it always helped him stand out from the crowd. He had beautiful, handsome features that contrasted her small round face perfectly. His eyes were gorgeous and striking. Even though they have known each other for a decade, been dating for a few years and living together for nearly eight months, his eyes still took her breath away. It was like he was _bespoke_ for her. She was enchanted by the way he smelled. The cologne he had always worn - cedar, grass, the ocean, and a hesperidic note - never smelt as good alone as it did on him. He always caught her eye, in casual jeans and school sweaters, in delicious Quidditch gear, in fine dress robes, and in breathtaking suits. And while she loved cuddling up to him at any time - which they did often, with him towering over her standing up and his legs trailing off the side of the couch when they laid down - she admittedly loved it more when he was wearing a supple suit when they did it. He knew this. Because of his work and how she doted over him when he wore them, he was happy to comply nearly daily.

She was enchanted by menswear with each of her senses. It was the texture and warmth, not to mention the smell of his cologne and his leather pieces that set her heart aflame. He would hold her tightly against the rough, thick wool of his jacket, her head tucked right under the stubble of his chin and she would sigh and writhe, hearing her body move against the fabric, trying to gain more purchase and he held her wrists.

She would watch him from behind as he prepared their morning pot of coffee. As he busied himself, she would let her eyes glide down his strong back. His blazer enhanced his shoulders, framed his body. His pants hung on his waist, skimming over his butt, drawing her attention to the sculpting that flying on a broom had caused. The wool trailed down his long legs like columns before meeting his polished shoes. Her hands would itch to reach out and touch him as she tried to busy herself with buttering toast.

When he spun around to hand her cup to her, she would catch a glimpse of the shirt and tie he choose for the day. His shirts were sometimes patterned - classic solids; manly checks, seersuckers, tattersails, and stripes; or more daring paisleys and floral motifs. He would combine his shirts and ties in a unique way that would probably never work on anyone else. He understood his patterns and color combinations. It was partially something he learned by trial-and-error and partially by her intense love for style. Some combinations would shock her - the flamboyant mixing of patterns and colors that didn't quite go, but looked good nonetheless. Other combinations seemed made specifically for him - shirts that matched his eyes and made them sparkle with and intensity that made her quiver. Her eyes would roll back into her eyelids imagining the cold silk in her hands, the way she could pull him in for his kisses. She flushed in the memory of the time he had tied her up with some of his most expensive silk ties. She could remember the way they pulled on her wrists, the small woven patterns pressing against her skin and leaving their impression there. After that time, she couldn't help but flush when he wore those ties. His eyes would shine and he would smile at her knowingly.

When they had their breakfasts together, she would imagine everything she would do to him. Her hands would roll over his chest, each muscle flexing under the thin cotton. He seems restricted by the buttons and his jacket, but he never looked it. He looked perfectly at ease; his suits seeming like a second skin. And as he turned, she would see the inside silk lining of jacket. Maybe it would be plain solid grey, a bright shocking color that would surprise to her, or perhaps it would be a printed silk. Either way, her breath would catch in her throat and she would be imagine removing the delectable item from him all day as she sat behind her Ministry desk.

When she saw a handsome man in a suit - especially _her_ handsome man - she just _itched_ to touch.

With strangers it was just about the _feel _of the suiting, but her boyfriend fueled her to remember every piece and every moan. She wanted to trace her hands up and over every bit. She wanted to remember his anatomy through the fabric. She wanted to press her hand against him with only his soft woolen trousers between them. She would bury her face against his chest, his shirt, his tie. She would dance over his buttons and caress the silk lining. She wanted to lick and mark and nuzzle every part of him.

She couldn't remember which happened first - her love of suits or his - because she was fairly certain that they overlapped. He had begun his ministry job right around she started intensely studying the subject. Maybe she encouraged him to be more daring in his choices. Maybe she encouraged him to wear nicer fabrics and to vary them. Maybe she encouraged him to step outside of the usual and pick unusual colors and patterns. Maybe he only wore full suits to _suit _her. And maybe, just maybe, having a attractive man to play dress-up with had encouraged her studies.

Hermione Granger was a lucky women. Because one of the things she had a passion for men's suits and her lovely boyfriend had _indulged _her _passion _every step of the way.

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**AN: Some terms, just in case:**

Haberdashery - a shoppe sells sewing notions and odds-and-ends.

A _bespoke _suit - a suit made entirely to the measurements of the customer. A perfect fit

Braces - American suspenders

Pants - American underwear

**Thank you for reading! I hope you will check out my other stories! ****Reviews are always welcomed! XD**


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